Sleepwalking
by chickenwriter
Summary: Written by me,with help from my wonderful and talented friend Carola aka Cai. I dumbly started writing a Thanksgiving story then realized it was an American Holiday...Clarisse goes to bed early, with an intesting result. CJOneshot,bad summary as always


Sleepwalking

Summery: With no one around, Clarisse planned to enjoy her new found privacy by retiring early. She knew, however, if and when she did, there was a very good chance her old childhood disease would return. I started writing a Thanksgiving story then realized it was an American Holiday . . . CJ Oneshot

The palace hallways were emptier than they'd ever been. It was the night of 'Genovia's Thanksgiving', and half of the guards had been dismissed from the palace to be with their families on the Queen's favorite new holiday. She had picked up a few trivial things about their customs on her last trip to visit Mia in the states. It was the hottest November she could ever recall, and in the palace, the air conditioning had been shut off in September to save money. She sighed softly and removed her lacy dressing gown from her closet. She hadn't worn this since her husband died two years prior. With no one around, Clarisse planned to enjoy her new found privacy by retiring early. She knew, however, if and when she did, there was a very good chance her old childhood disease would return. But that evening had wore her out, and she decided to take the risk. After all, how bad could it be?

- - - -

It was midnight, and he had just stumbled into bed without bothering to change out of his clothes. With no family in Genovia, he had stayed behind to protect the queen during her new holiday. The damn thing didn't even make sense to him, but Clarisse had insisted. She was adamant about her people being thankful for living in such a wonderful country. For Joe, it was just a reason to be near her the entire night, and hopefully get a moment of closeness after the party. Tonight she had retired early, and he experienced no such moment. As he tossed and turned, he held his aching head in his hands. He knew he should have stopped drinking when he started to feel dizzy. But, in spite of the fact he would have a monstrous hangover, Joe was looking forward to seeing Clarisse in the morning. She had uncharacteristically invited him to join her for a nice breakfast in her suite. Lost in his thoughts about his excellent plans for tomorrow, he barely noticed the only door to his quarters flying open, revealing a woman standing in the doorway.

"Clarisse?" Her name felt funny on his drunken tongue. He sat up, worry lining his face. "What's wrong?" He stood there, looking at her with a dazed and confused expression mingling with the already present worry. Raising his arm slightly he waved it in front of her face, meeting with no response. Realizing she was still only half conscious, his confusion transformed into a sheepish smirk. "Sweetie, wake up." With the inner strength and courage he only found while drunk, he placed his hands centimeters above her hips to steady her. He tried to rouse her twice more before picking her up into his arms and carrying her to his bed, helping her to lie down. As he watched her sleeping, he mulled over in his head what she would think in the morning if she were to wake up in his bed. What would she think if he were next to her? The last thing he wanted was for her to think he had taken advantage of her. But her room was all the way across the palace, and it would look far too suggestive if he carried her all the way back. He could just envision the gossipy ladies-in-waiting and the guards with preposterous expressions upon the scandal . . . or so they would think. But, then again, how would it look if she stumbled out of **his room** in the morning? Would it be even **more** suggestive than carrying her to her suite?

Sitting backwards with his head rested on his folded arms in a chair behind the bed, he thought and worried. He glanced at the clock. It was a minute or two 'till two in the morning. _Shit_, Joe thought, the time being a grim reminder of just how wrong all of this was. Making decisions could be so hard sometimes, and deciding between what he knew was right and what he **wanted** proved more difficult than he would have ever believed. Joe knew the right thing to do was to sleep on the floor and let Clarisse be, but his desire for her consumed him. He didn't move.

Instead he found himself sitting on the same chair, watching his love sleep. The few times she stirred made his heart race. Inside, Joe knew that there were so many things he could do. This was ridiculously wrong, the queen being in his bed at an hour that almost all of Genovia slept through, and he wanting to dishonor her in that same bed. If he waited much longer, she would awaken, confused and horrified at where she was, and how she had gotten there. Suddenly he realized if he didn't move and take action, he would scream from the pain she was unknowingly causing. So he rose from his spot at the end of the bed, and knelt by his queen's side. "Darling," He mouthed, running a gentle hand across her cheek. "Darling, I have loved you for so long." His hand moved to her hair, stroking softly through it. "I wish that I could tell you." Without thinking, he leaned his head down and placed his shaking lips on hers. The kiss was a touch so light, that she should not have felt it. But her eyes fluttered open, and Joe froze in his place.

"Joseph?" She muttered, knowing in her heart that it was him. "What . . . " His head flew back, trying to cover up just how close he had been. "Wha . . . what are you doing?"

"I. . .I. . .help it, I couldn't help it. Sleeping there . . . you, here . . . I . . . didn't know . . . " His words were marred and mangled by the wine he had consumed and the embarrassment he felt.

"Oh . . . this is sufficiently awkward." She sat up and threw her legs over the bed. Clarisse soon realized that he was not the intruder in her room. She was the intruder in his. "How did I get here?" Her instant reaction was that he had kidnaped her and brought her to his bed in his drunken stupor. But even drunk, his mind was not**that** sadistic.

"Your majesty, I believe that you came here in your sleep." He tried. Her mind floated back to the early hour she had gone to bed.

"Yes . . . " She whispered. "That's the only way . . . " The harder she thought about it, the more she realized she couldn't possibly have lay down without waking herself up. "Why didn't you wake me?" Clarisse's normally warm voice turned to ice.

"I tried, but you wouldn't wake up." She stood and her face was inches from her head of security's.

"How** dare you **take advantage of me like that? A helpless old queen."

"Darling, please. I didn't do anything." He was literally on his knees, begging her to let him make it right, to forgive him. The last thing he wanted was for her to walk out of his room angry, ruining any chance he had ever had with her.

"Joseph, you **kissed **me. You kissed me without my permission."

"Yes, I did, and I am sorry." His head dropped in shame, and she suddenly felt horrible for being so angry. A silence drifted through the room, separating the pair with an invisible boundary.

"Oh, Joseph, I forgive you." She ended the silence by raising her hand and running it softly down his cheek. He placed his hand over hers. Her angry scowl turned into a stunned smile at the feeling racing through her veins at his touch. She couldn't stop what came out of her mouth next. "Kiss me."

"Gladly." Their lips met softly, until he rose up off his knees, joined her on the bed and hovered over her, deepening the kiss. She made an audible noise of protest, but he ignored her whimper. He'd come too far to stop now.

"Joseph . . . " She whispered when they parted, straightening his shirt-collar. "This . . . this is wrong. We can't. Not now." He moaned in dismay and rolled off of her.

"Clarisse, we never can! It was like this last year at the consulate when we danced, and after the Independence Day ball in your suite, and at the Christmas Party under the freaking mistletoe! When can we?" He had raised his voice just loud enough to be threatening. "Will you ever be ready?" She had tears in her eyes by the time he finished. He lowered his voice and hung his head. "Oh sweetie, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry." She moved over to him and he took her in his arms.

"I really wish I could make this okay. I hate how much I . . . care for you." She couldn't bring her mind to let her say 'love' while her heart was screaming it. He paused to reflect on her words, ignoring how much he wanted, and needed, to kiss her again. Finally he worked up the courage to stroke a gentle hand through her soft blonde hair, and press a kiss to her forehead.

"Clarisse, you are ever present in my mind and every word anyone says reminds me of you, and I don't know what to do about that."

"I am sorry I can't help you, Joseph, I have my duty to think about." Clarisse sniffled and let a few tears fall on Joe's black shirt.

"You always have." He added coldly, he had realized long ago that he would always come second to the duty she felt she owed her country.

"Will you, wait for me?" She asked innocently, knowing he would be unable to resist.

"Darling, I've been waiting for you since we first met. A few more years won't kill me."

"Oh . . . Joseph. I do love you." The room seemed to freeze, and Joe forgot to breathe. He looked down at her in shock, then kissed her head affirmingly.

"I love you, too." He looked over at the clock with a terrified look upon his face. An hour had passed. "Are you . . . going back to your room?"

"Will you let me stay?" She asked. He pulled back and stared blankly at her. _What kind of question is that?_ He thought. _Of course_.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm the queen, everything I say is a good idea."

"Then, absolutely." He laughed, rubbing her arms.

"Oh good." She smiled, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the lips.

"My dear, would I be too forward if I mentioned that I wish this **could** get out of hand?"

"Not when I wish the same." She sighed. "But . . . "

"It can't." He finished. "I know."

"Well, no one would know . . . " She added, turning away.

"Clarisse!" He gasped. She giggled, loving how she was messing with his mind. "You're kidding." He darkened slightly, then reached out and moved his fingers teasingly over her sides.

"Oh! Jo . . . seph! Stop . . . it!" She inhaled sharply, fighting for breath through her laughter. When he ceased from the torturing tickling, her mind began to race. Yes, it was in a joking voice that she had started her sentence, but in her head she knew she wouldn't really mind if it **did** get out of hand.

"Oh, my darling, it's three in the morning."

"But I don't want this night to end." She pouted, grabbing Joe's hand from where it rested on her waist and pulling it close to her heart.

"Oh, my dear, you don't know how much I agree." He kissed her temple, and tightened his grip around her. "But we need to sleep."

"I love you, Joseph." She whispered, brushing her lips across his hand.

"I love you, too, Clarisse. I love you, too."

"I give thanks for you." He laughed softly at her.

"I give thanks for you, as well, my declarer of holidays." She rotated in his embrace and kissed him once more, smiling at the thought of being 'his.' That's all she ever could wish for and all he ever wanted. As the clock struck 3:30, they snuggled close, and drifted to sleep in each other's arms, hoping they would not be discovered so intimately close in the morning.


End file.
